Through the Glass, Darkly
by rendezvous
Summary: [YA][RH] Where does Yoh end and Hao begin? What was once black and white is now just gray; Anna searches desperately for Yoh as Hao plays cat and mouse with her. And it's NOT because he's a bastard.
1. Chapter One

**Through the Glass, Darkly**

_Author_: Blu/Rendezvous (blujade88@yahoo.com).  _Disclaimer_: Don't own, except ideas and OCs.  Steal the idea and die.  _Rating_: outer-limit PG-13 for violence (Hao), profanity (Hao), and sexuality (Hao).  _Summary_: [Y/A][R/H] Where does Yoh end and Hao begin?  What was once black and white is now just gray; Anna searches for Yoh as Hao plays cat and mouse with her, sadistic bastard that he is.  _AN_: I swear, I had reserves about the fic name even before the, uh, well-intentioned review. Serious! Don't you believe me? *coughs* Annnnnnyhow... RenxHoroHoro because even a non-yaoi fan like me can appreciate such a cute (not to mention semi-canon) couple.  Also a spin-off from one of the last few anime episodes.  I find it a fascinating concept, and I hope you do too.  Enjoy! ^_~

---

**Chapter One**

[November 2nd, 2003]

Wind in time  
rapes the flower  
trembling on the vine  
and nothing yields to shelter  
from above.  
They say temptation will destroy our love.  
The never-ending hunger.

            --_sarah mclachlan, "Fear"_  
  


--

It was their wedding that day.

It was a beautiful one, as days went, the sunshine spilling across the courtyard like thick layers of honey, golden rays chasing butterflies and dappling the grass beneath her feet yellow-green.  She had gathered her skirts around her, smoothing out the folds of white chiffon as best she could.  Even now she acted the part of a lady, though she would much have preferred her old black dress with its short-skirt and accompanying red scarf, a familiar weight wound around the top of her head.  Her dress now—one that he had given her, forced her to wear—bared her shoulders, her neck, and she felt naked because of it.  The day was warm, and beautiful—_perfect, _really, but Anna was shivering.

She leaned against the tree, and shivered, and wondered, distantly, why the world pretended to be so normal when it wasn't.

She had never really noticed such materialistic things like that before—the leaves as they drifted to the ground around her, twirling in their red-gold attire, the tree trunk against her back, comfortably scratchy, the sunshine, the sky, the entire sleepy afternoon.  The day was that lazy kind, the kind where she had had nothing to do but watch television and relax in her nice shaded room while she made Yoh run thirty times around the block outside—the kind where, back when everything was normal, she would see lovers sitting under a tree on her way home, holding hands and drowsing together, her head on his shoulder.

It was, ironically, the kind of day for a wedding.  Anna sat there and waited.  She had calmed herself some time ago; now she was completely still, breath measured and hands loose in her lap.

In time he came.  She had been expecting him for a while now.

"Anna, dear," the voice came from behind the tree.  "Have you forgotten what today is?"

"No."  She turned her head his way.  "Come around."

"As m'lady wishes."  He was mocking her.  She hated it when he mocked her.  

With a swish of cloak he was down on level with her, eyes made a deep, inquisitive gold-color by the sunlight.  "Hello," he said, and smiled.

She looked at him looking back at her.  When he reached out to tuck a strand of wheat-colored hair out of her face she did not flinch back.  He touched a finger to her cheek, traced down to the corner of her lips, where his eyes lingered.  Still she didn't blink.  He stroked her hair again, as one might do a pet; she stared at him.  Her hands had clenched in her lap.  

"They're waiting for us, darling."

"Don't call me that."

He laughed.  "I can call you anything I like."

"I am Anna Kyouyama," she stated.

"And not Anna Asakura, is that right?"  A fine black brow arched in derision.

"Correct."

"Come now, don't be so uptight."  He leaned in to her.  If she had been the cowardly type she would've been forced right up against the tree.  "Darling Anna."

Instead she met him eye for eye, though he was so close it seemed he might kiss her.  "Get back."

He smiled.  "Or you'll hit me?"

"Yes."

"Go ahead."  His voice was musical, amused.

"Don't underestimate me," she said, and lashed out with her feet.  Or tried to, because he moved out of the way so fast she couldn't even follow his figure, his hair as it trailed in the warm breeze, his smile.  Before she knew it she had grabbed a handful of his cloak in her fists, and tugged, hard.  She put all her strength into it, pulling down at him, felt his knees buckle just a bit.  If she had been the type to growl she would've, right there and then.

He hit the ground next to her, but it was with his lip curled up in laughter, as if he had fallen down only by his own consent.  The leaves flickered in sunlight, and more fell as he grasped her shoulders.  His grip hurt.  She knew, distantly, there would be bruises left over tomorrow, faint purple smudges that only the two of them would see.

"Tell me, Anna," he said, and pulled her to him.  His hands were like banded steel.  "Do you still miss him?"

She looked up at him.  "Yes."

His eyes were lidded, lashes black against honey skin.  "Stupid woman, you should've told him you loved him when you had the chance."

She did not try to deny it, but was instead silent.

"Now—" he leaned to her, brushed lips against her forehead.  "He's gone forever, isn't he?" His voice was comfortable, conversational.  "You're not going to hit me for doing that?"

"He is not gone," she said, "And I won't waste my time trying to hurt the likes of you."  

She liked to think she was honest to herself, always.  She had seen Yoh that last day, held his limp body within her arms, felt the bare flicker of life contained within.  She knew, she _knew_, he wasn't dead, because—because—

But now it had nothing to do with logic, or sense, or pure, cold facts—only that Yoh was _her _Yoh—that he couldn't have been defeated that easily, that his life couldn't have been snuffed out like a candle flame, so _simply—_

She liked to think she was honest to herself.

_He is not gone, or dead._  

He watched her for a little, as if he could see the turmoil behind her calm façade—and that was what it always was, a façade—then chuckled.  "The likes of me, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Don't tell me to shut up," he said, gently.  "I am Shaman King.  But it's true, you shouldn't try and go against me.  You never know what people like me can do."

"I know that you can bring back Yoh," she said.

He smiled at her, and tugged her further to him, so that she was half-sprawled across his lap in the most uncomfortable position.  He wanted to humiliate her, but she wasn't so easy to humiliate.  "And why would I want to do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll kill you," she said, softly.

"Tough words for such a little girl.  It would be shocking indeed if the Shaman's King wife were to stick a knife in him in the dead of the night, hmm?"

"I'm not so little as you might think."

"Ahhh—" he stretched out.  She moved away, tugging the hem of her dress from his fingertips as she did.  "You're right, I guess."

She leaned against the trunk of the tree, stared out at the butterflies.  "That's why you should believe me when I say I'm going to kill you."

"It'd be interesting to see you try."

She stared at him a little.  "I'm going to do more than try."

"Oh!  What a threat!"  He turned to her, smiling.  He looked like Yoh when he smiled.  "But first things first.  We've wasted enough time here."

"I'd rather just stay."

"Silly child!"  He laughed, stood up and offered her his hand, then retracted it with a small grin when she ignored it.  "The shamans are getting impatient.  Surely you don't want to keep them waiting any longer?"

She pushed herself to her feet, adjusting the fall of the dress and her necklace as she went.  The material was whispery against her bare legs.  "I hate you, you know," she said, calmly.

"I know, darling," he said, taking her hand in his.  His fingers curled around hers just hard enough to hurt.  "I know."

--

She had watched him watching the humans before.  

Some of them had been rounded up in the castle grounds (and it was a castle, there was no other word for it—she suspected Hao wouldn't have settled for anything less), numbering in the hundreds at least, bleating and milling around like so many lost sheep.  There was no hate in his eyes, no anger—just a certain contempt, as if they were all below him, ants that he could step on and grind into miniscule bits, and no one would give a damn.  It was as if he just didn't _care_, now that he had gotten what he had wanted out of some 1000 years of life and half-life—eradicating humans left and right, disease and famine and everything burning, burning, _burning_.  It was as if—as if he were—_bored._

And then there were the times that she caught him watching her.  There would be the heat of his eyes, a long trail of ghost fingers down her skin, perhaps imagined, perhaps not; she would snap her head up, and find him studying her as if she were a specimen under a microscope.  There was no hate there, either; just a certain curiosity.  

She knew he was wondering how much she could take before she broke.

Now he walked in front of her, in his cloak that fluttered like waves being skimmed over by a frisking wind.  They passed a group of people, shamans all of them, dressed in the colorful garb of their homeland.  All ducked their heads as they strode by; a woman bowed so low that her long hair rippled down to the ground, where it mingled with the dirt.  "Hao-sama," they murmured.

She watched him smile at them, friendly as a cobra before it strikes.

"You're a hypocrite, Hao," she said, conversationally, after they had left them behind.  "You treat them like they're your friends, but when it comes down to it you wouldn't blink if they died some way or another."

"Always the eloquent one."  He slipped her a smile over his shoulder.  "But aren't you the same as me, Anna?  If not for Yoh you wouldn't care if the world ended tomorrow and everybody died except for you.  And maybe not even that."

"But there is Yoh," she said.

He gave a little _hmph.  _"And what about Yoh's friends?  Would you care for them?"

She stared at his back.  "It doesn't matter, does it?"

An easy shrug, and then silence.

Keeping up with him was easy, even as the road steeped, curving up over the side of the hill.  Trees bowed down on both sides, shedding leaves red-gold that fluttered away in the brisk wind.  

She hated this.  She hated this with a strange, detached fury.

There was some part of her that stirred against the rational side of her mind, who complained—no, not complained, but _raged_—at being led around like a helpless puppy.  She was so unused to this—this _heat _that centered in her chest, blocking her lungs and shortening her breath and clenching her nails into claws.  When Anna hated it was ice, not fire.  When she hated she hated logically, so that there was still room left for thought, for cold reasoning.  She did not hate often, but there he was, walking in front of her with the wind slipping in underneath his clothes so that she could see his lean back, all sinew and locked muscle and a hollow where his shoulder blades met.  And in between the shoulder blades, she imagined she could see the slow, steady beat of his heart.  

"We're here."

The path cleared out into a large platform set a few stories off ground level.  The front part of it descended into stairs, towards where a group of people huddled together, conferring about something or other.  Polished hardwood squeaked beneath her sandals; her sandals, the only thing that Hao had let her keep.  If she looked over, she could see all the people crowded into the vast expanse of the canyon—yes, it was a canyon, a natural open-aired audience room carved out by nature.  They looked like ants, they were so small, and they _roared _theirapproval, their joy, their excitement.  It seemed like the whole shaman population was out, and then she realized that the thought wasn't too far off.  

"Anna," he said, still facing outwards.  "Please do keep yourself from trying to kill me until _after _the ceremony."

And then he turned to her with hands out.  The clapping, the whistles, the cheering swelled until she wanted to scream for all of them to be _quiet_—for god's sake they were acting like this was the formal coronation of Hao, only that had been a week back, and today was just supposed to be a small passage that she could get over with quickly—

Because, damnit, she didn't want to reminded anymore than she was that she was going to become wife to the Shaman King; that she was going to become wife to Asakura Hao; that she would never become wife to Asakura Yoh, because he technically didn't even exist anymore.

_Damnit._

There were no tears, though.  There were never any tears.  It was her own fault, because she never should have cared so much in the first place.  But Yoh had been tricky like that, the sneaky spoiled brat, a brat she had known since her younger, more innocent days—Yoh, the little Asakura shaman who made her her breakfast every morning and trained so hard to become Shaman King, to have the _chance _to become Shaman King—she had made him just because she wouldn't have settled for any less, and then somewhere along the way she had looked at him and thought, "_He is my husband.  He is—will become—my husband," _and she hadn't even felt bewildered by the way he had somehow tiptoed through all her considerable defenses, scaled her ice-slicked walls—

And then he had gone off and _died_, on her.

"We will go through the human ritual," he said, and laughed a little when he saw the way she looked at him.  "In honor of Yoh."

"You are still going to bring him back for me," she said, quietly.  "Asakura Hao."  And then she let him take her arm and lead her down to the foremost of the open-aired platform, where the Indian priest awaited them in white and crimson attire.  The people roared.  The day was as bright as fresh-fallen snow.

--

It began as soon as they took the first step down together: the music only she heard, the strange cawing of spirits, the steps downward, one after another after another, as if she were walking into hell and willing as a lamb being led to its slaughter. 

Her hand was in his, sunlight slanting down towards them, old gold and warm.  The noise of the crowd grew; she saw him smiling out of the corner of her eyes.  His smile grew too, and it was sweet, like Yoh's; the wind whipped his hair sideways, and if her mind's eye placed an orange headphone around his neck, he could've _been_ Yoh.  

She thought she saw him...glowing.

Just a faint emission of light, like the play of fire; and the heat burning like embers against the palm of her hand.  It grew, steady as their descent downwards.  She did not try to twist away, because that would be admitting defeat to him.  He was still smiling.  She didn't want to give him reason to smile more.

_What are you doing, Hao?  _She concealed a small wince as his grip tightened—then released, just as suddenly.  _Trying to burn me up?_

They arrived at the bottom, him a half step in front of her, because that was the way he wanted, and she could do nothing about it.

"Ready?"

_No._

And she said, very clearly, "You'll never break me."

She did not flinch when he took her hand again, pressing hard into the bruise forming there.  "Strength is only to be expected of the Shaman King's wife."

They faced each other.  The priest crept up besides them, as if afraid of what Hao might do if he interrupted such a moment.  A high, nervous cough sounded.  "Hao-sama, I think we will have to begin soon—"

"Go ahead," he ordered.  His hands clenched around hers, eyes the same strange gold-black.  "We're ready."

The priest cleared his throat.  And something that she had known only a few times in her life clenched low in her stomach, like it was trying to get out.  It made her squirm in his grip, and it didn't matter that he was smiling at her, triumphant as a tiger crouched atop his prey; it only mattered that she couldn't do this, she _couldn't_, how could she have agreed in the first place—

Until the panic died down, and she was left with only something old, something tattered, something so _tired_.

_"We meet in this place to celebrate a mystery as ageless as humankind; a mystery of enduring power and inspiration..."_

She met his gaze, kept it, and knew that he saw the same irony as she did.  The bastard was mocking her again, damnit.  _"In honor of Yoh," _she remembered, and the strange heat flared up within her chest again.

_"'...Place me as a seal over your heart… for love is as strong as death, Many waters cannot quench love, nor will rivers overflow it; Love is beyond price; to what can it be compared?'"_

Quiet, still; the numbing silence flowed into her veins, clawed up her throat, froze her feet to the ground.  And he was still _smiling _at her.  She didn't want to understand the way he was looking at her; she could only stand there, watch as he brought her hands to his lips.  Warm.  His mouth was warm, and when he set his teeth gently down into her skin she flinched.

_"...You come to this altar of commitment individually as man and woman. But when you leave, you leave as husband and wife, united by vows and blessed by God..."_

There was something wet nipping at the back of her eyes.

"Do you, Asakura Hao, take this woman as your wife and your closest friend, and do you agree to be fully committed to the sanctity of this marriage for as long as you both shall live?"

"Yes," he said.

_This is all a dream.  I'll wake up and Yoh will be in the kitchen making me my breakfast, and I'll yell at him for not having it ready by the time I'm out of the bathroom.  _She stared at the face looking down at her sightlessly.  _A dream.  _The ghost of his teeth stung against the back of her hand.  _And we'll walk to school together, and he'll be listening to Bob, and—and—  _

_"Do you, Kyouyama Anna, take this man as your husband and your closest friend, and do you agree to be fully committed to the sanctity of this marriage for as long as you both shall live?"_

_No.  No._

"Yes," he said, laughing a little.  "You'll have to excuse Anna, she has a bit of a speaking problem."

And she couldn't; only she had to.  And—

"Come on, Anna," he urged her on in a gentle voice, as if she were that same lamb, being led to its death.  "Remember what we talked about earlier."

She looked at him, then at the priest, who was standing there and watching Hao with a reverent light in his eyes, and then back at Hao; then out to the shamans crowding out the nature-made canyon, all eyes on her and the air as silent as dawn before the birds came singing.  Dawn, before Yoh's alarm clock rang; dawn, the last night together with him, enveloped in his warmth and trying not to like it.

"Yes," she said.  "I do."

Someone screamed.  "_ANNA!"_

"Oh," he said.  "Did I forget to mention that I have a wedding present for you?"

_"How could you do this—Anna, over here—ANNA!"_

She spun sideways, and hearing only distantly Hao in the background, as he said, quickly but not hurried, "Hurry and get it over with; skip over the ring part, we'll have to do that another day—", his words made crackly in by the confusion swarming in her head.  For a moment her eyes darted this way and that, unsure of where the yelling was coming from, and then she saw the crowd of shamans parting like the red sea, rippling apart before a giant blue form.  Ice sprayed outwards as structures that had been set up for shade were torn down.  She could see HoroHoro now, a small figure with spiky blue hair—f he only reached out with his oversoul, he could've run through the place where she was standing, splintered the wood and fractured the stone.  Behind him was the gold-blue form of Ren, and then the snakeheads, and the leopard-claws, the angel wings and the pink dress—

"Anna!" he screamed hoarsely.  "Yoh—we can still bring him back—Amidamaru is with us, he says—he says there might be a way—Anna, Anna—don't you see what that means?  Anna!—"

A hand touched her arm from behind.  "What idiocy," Hao said.

_"By the exchange of vows and the giving and receiving of rings, you have proclaimed and affirmed your intentions to enter into a sacred union. In recognition of the above, and, as a minister of the Gospel and in accordance with the laws and statutes of the new shaman world order, I now pronounce you: Husband and Wife." _

_"ANNA!!"_

_"You may kiss your bride."_

He kissed her.  Quickening, so unbelievably _fast.  _He caught her chin in deft fingers and tilted her face to him, not roughly but with irresistible precision, and _kissed _her.  Her hand itched; she clenched it into a fist.  _No matter.  It doesn't matter.  Whether I'm married to him or not—_but it did, because she was promised to Yoh, not Hao.  Only, Yoh was gone. 

_No.  No, he isn't._

Her knees trembled.  She looked up to see how much closer they had come, with Hao's warmth a breath away from the side of her neck.  Maybe there was a small frown on his face, or maybe it was a smile.  But there was HoroHoro, so close to her she could've reached out and touched the ice blue of his oversoul.  She yanked free of Hao, or tried to.  He held on with an unmoving firmness.

"_Jeanne,_" he said.

And then, quite simply, HoroHoro and Ren and Ryu and Lyserg and Chocolove disappeared in a flash of brilliant light.  When the light faded there was in its place a cage, and just standing so far from it she could feel the power it took to trap the shamans beneath the heavy gold bars.  A large black spirit crouched over the top of the metal bars, a key clasped in its paws.

The girl came from behind them, hands clasped as if in prayer.  "Hao-sama."

"Care to explain?" he asked, half-turning.

"I'm sorry, Hao-sama."  Her voice was serene, but held an undertone of something _off_, like a portrait hung upside down, or a voice on a recording tape playing backwards.  "Yali and his friends were talking about your wedding to the itako girl today, and they heard.  They broke out when I wasn't watching."

Yoh had told her about Iron Maiden Jeanne.  He had said that Hao had devoured her spirit.

_Then why...?_

He nodded.  "You are excused.  And keep them there until I tell you otherwise."

"Hao-sama?"

A half-smile.  "It's amusing watching them playing around on the half-wit toys they call oversouls."  He turned back to her, eyes alight in the afternoon sunshine.  "This is my wedding gift to my wife," he said, only it was to the whole gathering of shamans now clustering back together beneath them.  "This is my gift to you," he said, this time quietly, with a brush of lips against her brow.  It was almost tender.  

Then he released her.  

"Jeanne," he said again.  The cage lowered so that they were directly in front of them, so that she could see Ren pounding against the bars with his fists, and Manta huddling in the corner with his backpack clutched to his chest, and HoroHoro yelling at Ren to stop, he was going to hurt himself, and Faust slumped next to Manta, Eliza absent from his side, and Ryu leaning against his wooden sword.  She watched him stagger down to his knees.

"Anna," he said, "Which traitor would you like me to execute first?"

The people roared hungrily.  The day was too bright, like a dying star burning brilliantly, determined to blaze on to its last.

---

_AN_: I'm sorry, but I had to cut it off right there.  The chapter was getting way too long.  (I know, I'm evil.)  Review, and have a traditional first chapter cookie!  ^_^


	2. Chapter Two

**Through the Glass, Darkly**

---

**Chapter Two**

_[November 9th, 2003]_

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

            _--henry david thoreau, "Walden"_

--

He didn't know when it had happened, when it had become almost as natural as breathing or fighting or living, when HoroHoro had cease to become a nuisance and instead taken on the role of someone he would've died fighting for.

Something he would deny in his more lucid moments, no doubt.  But this was not a lucid moment, even by Tao Ren standards.  And it was all because of Hao, and—  

That girl.  That—that—_girl._

She had been swallowed up—or at least her spirit had been, according to what Lyserg had told him, made helpless as a mewling kitten with only a few zealots to protect her (though powerful zealots they were).  The last he had seen her she had been pretty and innocent and pure-looking, dressed all up in frilly whites.  Her power as a shaman was supposed to be well and truly _dead_.

"Ren—"

"Shut up!" he snarled.

"Stop it—"

"Like hell I will!"  The furyoku materialized in his hand.  His fingers clenched around red metal; he swung with a roared curse.  Metal sparked against magic-enforced metal.  The resounding aftershocks sent him stumbling back before he forced himself upright again.

"You idiot, what the hell do you think you're _doing_?!"  HoroHoro again; he could just barely see him out of the corner of his eyes.

"Getting us out of here, baka," he said, and attacked again.  This time he was forced back against into the other side of the cage, taking HoroHoro with him as he went.  They tumbled down into a pile of growled words and tangled limbs.

"Pull your head out of your ass, Ren—"

"What did you just tell me to do, you bas—"

"It's not helping any!"

"At least I'm trying!"

The other boy grabbed him by the front of his shirt, seemingly unaware of the coming consequences of doing so.  "It doesn't _matter!_" he grated out.  "She—is—too—strong—for—you!"

"Speak for yourself, ass—and let me the hell _go_!"  His hands had stayed tangled in Ren's shirt, and no matter how hard he pried, the grip would not come off, the fingers curled into the cloth like iron.  Distantly he saw Ryu and Chocolove sitting around gaping at them, heard Manta yelling for both of them to get it together, to stop acting like children.  Only, Yoh's little tag-a-long friend seemed to have forgotten that they _were _children; physically, at least.

And then the cage shifted, throwing them all off-balance—tilting just a little to the right side so that Ren and HoroHoro were sliding down that way, both of them still tangled up like a knot that refused to come undone.  When they hit it was Ren who took most of the impact, the bars smacking directly into his ribs.  "_Bastard," _he choked out, and wasn't so sure who he was talking about anymore.

"Ren?"  HoroHoro, hands gripping him by his shoulders.  Ren could've laughed, he sounded so concerned.  "Ren?!"

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Hao; Hao, smiling with the wind blowing his hair into dark-brown trails and mouth forming words he could barely make out.

"_Which...traitor...you like me...execute...first?"_

HoroHoro paled besides him, hand tightening even more around his arm.  Manta gave a little squeak, his fingers frozen on top of computer keys.  Ryu muttered a muffled curse.  Faust was silent.  

Lyserg laughed.  

It was a funny little laugh that jerked Ren's head sideways to see the green-haired boy doubled over in gut-busting laughter, clawing at the floor of their prison until he left bloody trails where he touched.  He was laughing, long and hard and ragged—great, shuddering laughs that sounded suspiciously like sobs.  Finally he shuddered, and was still.

"Lyserg!"  Ryu scrambled forward.

Hao stepped closer to them, hands folded behind him, smile considering, patient.  His eyes landed on Ren—or, more specifically, on Ren and HoroHoro.

"Well," he said, "What's this?"

"I'm going to kill you._" _ Ren pulled himself to his feet, breath frayed.  With a burst of energy he staggered to where Hao stood in front of their cage.  "I'm going to get out of here," he growled, drawing himself up so that they were eye to eye. "And I'm going to kill you."

"For what?"  Hao's eyes slid sideways, to where HoroHoro sat.  Ren tensed.  "I've done nothing to you."

"You killed Yoh," he said.

"You should thank me—didn't I do you a favor?"

He nearly flinched back.  "He is—_was—_my friend."

"Oh, really?"  Hao looked back at him with curious eyes.  "What if I killed another one of your friends?  Say..."  And he tilted his head to one side.  "The one in blue?"

"Like hell you—"

"Shut up, HoroHoro."  Ren made a gesture behind his back.  "For once, just—shut—up_._"

He did.  Ren felt faintly surprised.  Hao only laughed, as if he found them terribly amusing.  "Now, where were we?"

--

She had been staring at Manta for some time now.

Not at Manta, specifically, but at the laptop that perched atop his lap, though his fingers had ceased their movement since Hao had announced his intention to execute one of them.  She could barely make out the slumped form of Lyserg, curled up into a fetal position; could see Ren and Hao in their staring contest, one smiling and the other holding the bars in a white-knuckled grip, both leaning towards each other just barely, neither willing to back down.

_Yoh—we can still bring him back—Amidamaru is with us, he says—he says there might be a way—Anna, Anna—don't you see what that means?  Anna!—_

Amidamaru, he said.  Yoh's samurai spirit, silver-haired and fierce and loyal to a fault.  Had he left Yoh at the last moment possibly, broken from him?  If so, who had done so?  She had heard of it before, spirits separated from their masters—not often, but once or twice, and that was enough.  He was in the laptop, she was sure of it.  Him and what he knew—maybe, just maybe, something that could bring Yoh back—which meant, ultimately, she couldn't let them die.  

No.  Yoh wouldn't have liked that anyway.

She glanced around, coolly.  Then she moved forward, walking slow, measured steps to where Hao was watching the cage, contemplative as if pondering upon an interesting puzzle.  "Hao."

"Anna," he said.  "Have you decided yet?"

"Yes."

He turned to her with a gentle smile.  "Who will it be?"

"No one," she said, after letting silence linger for just a little too long.  "Let them go."

"Why?  They're traitors.  They conspired against me.  They tried to kill me, Anna."  The smile never once left his face.  "If you don't want to choose, then I will."  He started to turn away from her.

"Hao!"  She caught his arm.  "Listen to me."

"Yes?"  Politely, with just a curl of laughter.

"There was a fight last month," she said, clearly.  "Between two shamans."

He paused.  "I don't see how it relates."

"It was between a Swedish girl, and a man from the streets of L.A.  He beat her up."  She tried to will him to look at her.  _Look at me.  Look at me.  _"The girl was badly injured.  Broken ribs, massive contusions, bones in her left arm snapped—basically, he almost killed her."

"The man will be punished, then," he said, and it might have been curt.

"The girl was pregnant."

He stiffened underneath her touch, but when he looked around at her his face was empty.  "I still fail to see how this has to do with the execution today."

"Two days after that a group of shamans cornered a child, nearly killed him too.  They said they were trying to get him to 'stand up for himself'—something about being a worthy shaman.  Worthy to be a subject of Asakura Hao, see?"  She didn't even pause when his eyes narrowed.  "Last week there was the rebel shaman from Egypt—he picked a fight with the others at a meeting, didn't he, one that Jeanne was overseeing.  Because it was 'boring', and the people speaking were 'pompous, up-tight jackasses'.  It escalated into a riot, Hao."  She paused.  "Would you like me to go on?"

He was frowning, just a little bit.  She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"The shamans are getting restless."

"What are you getting at?"  And it seemed like Ren and HoroHoro and Lyserg and the rest of them had been completely forgotten—just Hao's eyes focused on hers, intense like she was the only one in the world.

"They want something to do, Hao."  She leaned in to him, close enough to whisper.  "Give them something to do."

Behind his back, Manta pushed himself to his feet, sidled to the edge of the cage, and let his arm drop to his side.  His hand opened.  Something white floated out, onto the platform ground.

He considered her with slanted eyes.  "That's going to worse for them, don't you think?"  A pause.  "If I'm thinking the same thing you are."

"You are," she said.  _Because you and I are more alike then I'd like to admit.  _That she left unsaid, because she knew he had read the words in her eyes.  

"Hao."

"Hmm?"

She said it softly, but still loud enough that they could hear her.  "Think—if you were in their position—would you rather die caged up, or die fighting?"

A small sigh of breath.  "Ever the persuasive one, Anna."  A pause.  "You wouldn't planning anything, would you?"

"You know that if I said I wasn't, I would be lying," she said, calmly.

"And if I were to catch you sneaking around behind my back?"

"You can do with me," she said, "As you please."

He laughed a curious little laugh.  "Funny," he said, "But that's exactly what Yoh said, before he died."

"..."

And now it was his turn to lean in to her, hands coming down to settle gentle around her shoulders, as if she might break if he handled her too roughly.  _He's trying to throw me off guard, _she thought, _switching in and out of personalities.  Trying to confuse me._

Only, it was working.

"Tell them, then," his words coming a bare whisper against the outer shell of her ear.  "Tell the shamans.  Tell Yoh's friends that you want to have them loosed and hunted like animals."

She stepped away from him, the image of his smile something she couldn't quite shake.  "It is your duty as Shaman King to announce festivities to your people," she said, formally.

"We'll make an exception.  Today is our wedding, after all."

Her eyes narrowed.  "I insist."

"No, no," he laughed.  "I couldn't.  The honor must go to my wife."  And he took her hands, guided her so that they were in full view of the sea of shamans; gave her a little nudge.  "Come on, now.  Don't be so shy."

She looked up at him, eyes cool as she could make them.  "Give them a days head-start."

"Whatever you say."

"No time limit."

"Agreed."

"Hunting parties of maximum four."

"What do you take me for, Anna?"  He shook his head, giving her an indulgent little smile.  "Fine, but no more."  

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"It'd be good for the shamans to have a little fun now and then," he continued.  "But if they become too much of a nuisance I will take care of them."  Gently, he caught her elbow.  "You know I'm only playing this little game because you want to.  Don't disappoint me, Anna."  His breath was soft against her cheek, and barely stirred her hair. 

"I told you not to underestimate me."  She tilted her head; looked up at him for the longest time, before finally turning out to the crowd. 

And it seemed that they—Yoh's friends, her—her—who werethey, to her? she just didn't _know_—understood enough that they did not yell at her, curse at her, hate her for being an unfeeling itako girl, so cold that she could walk past them and announce to the Shaman population what may as well have been their death sentence, and not turn an eyelash at doing so.  She felt Manta staring at her, as they all were.  She didn't look at them, though.  When HoroHoro yelled something at her she automatically tuned it out, because she was good at it ignoring what didn't really matter.  

She was afraid if she were to look at them, they would see her carefully blank eyes, and hate her for being what she could only be. 

"Your attention, please."  Cold.  Professional.  As if she were not about to loose rapid shamans upon the only people who could possibly get her out of this, shamans trained and bred for only the Shaman Fight, shamans cooped up on Hao's grounds for too long.  "As the wife of your King I have an important announcement to make."  She chose her words carefully, as she did for everything, distancing herself from what she was saying.  "There is to be a hunt held within the borders of these lands, 50 miles south-north, 50 east-west, starting tomorrow," she said.  "The quarry will be the...traitors, held here."

They rustled to attention.  _Pigs, _she thought contemptuously.  A mention of bloodshed and they were on you like white on rice."The prisoners are to be given a full days head start.  There will be no surrounding them with overwhelming numbers; hunting parties may only consist of four, no more."  Hao was watching her, smiling.  _Carefully.  _"There is no time limit, and any one caught cheating will face the _King's_," and now she executed a little bow to him, made her voice scornful as she dared, "displeasure."

She jerked back just a little when he stepped up next to her.  "This will be a fair hunt.  I trust you will all remember that."  He was looking at her when he said it.  

But it didn't matter what he said, how he said it, what he meant by it—even now, his wife by less than an hour, and she was tired of his word games.  He could play them until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't matter.  This was the only way.  

And she kept on telling herself that, even as Hao gestured for Jeanne to release them, even as the gate fell open in a empty metal _clang_, even as they were escorted out to the forest's perimeters, Ryu looking back at her and gesturing wildly, and her looking away, avoiding their eyes, even as Hao drew her to him, stroked her hair so gently that she almost leaned into his touch—that it was the only way.  

Yoh wouldn't have had it any other way.

_God help them all.  If there is one._

The crowds dispersed.  Hao gave her a strange little hug before leaving as well.

She picked up a tiny scrap of paper as she left as well, pretending to drop down to dust off her skirt.  It crumpled in her palm, but when she opened it later, she could still read the blotchy letters, neat little rows with hooked _y_'s that could only belong to Manta.

--

The festivities saw the people dancing in the pale light of the slivered moon, eerie gray-silver casting husky violet shadows; saw shamans drinking champagne (something Hao especially liked, despite it being a human delicacy and all), laughing among each other and tucking away at the tables of food laid out in neat, colorful rows.  The festivities saw endless rows of shining white teeth, eyes scrunched to tiny crescents in laughter, loose hands and looser lips.  

Anna watched from where she sat next to Hao, once in a while taking tiny sips from her wine.  _Disgusting._  She felt light-headed, from all the alcohol, but she couldn't find it in herself to have cut loose inhibitions, laugh as Hao laughed besides her. 

She dreaded what was to come next, but she didn't bother to show it.

They left, soon enough, in drunken groups roaring laughter or in staggering pairs hanging on just a little too closely to each other, or, for the unlucky ones, in singles with only a bottle of wine clutched in their hands.  She was all alone with him all too soon, time having fled by even as she wished for it to stay. 

Hao took her hand, and it was surprisingly light—fingers brushing over hers, palms dry and warm over hers.  He led her through the overturned chairs, the messy tables, the lawn still relatively clean, bright emerald green.  They started through the grand doors, so tall and towering above her it seemed like they were tiptoeing the halls of a church (a distinction Jeanne would've appreciated, no doubt).  Her hand was still in his.  It seemed that for the last few weeks she had done nothing but let herself be led around, Hao the master and her the dog beaten into submission.

The thought curled her toes, made something deep in her belly twinge.  She could find it within herself to be furious, but she kept it buried.

She would find time to be furious when she brought Yoh back.

The stairs snaked up—one foot at a time, trying not to trip at every step; her own feet tangled at the oddest intervals, and once she nearly bowled into Hao on she half-staggered through the doorway.  He offered her an arm and to her utter surprise she took it.  

His arm was as thin, not unlike Yoh—thin, lean, warm.  Underneath her fingertips he tensed.  She looked up to see if her cold hands were bothering him, but there was only his shadowed profile, mouth down-turned and brows creased together.  It told her nothing.  But then he saw her looking at him, and the gentle little smile snapped back onto his face, quick as that.

And she had only the barest of questions on her lips before the bed hit the back of her knees—_how had it gotten there?_—and she fell.  

She passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

--

It was a dream as surely as the sky was blue, or ice cold, or dreams themselves fleeting emotions, memories, wants—buried all too quickly by the conscious mind.  In it, as it was with most, she was standing in a clearing with sands shifting beneath her feet, and wind knifing through her hair.  Distant sunshine filtered in just-barely through clouds weighed down by rain.  

And she turned sideways, and there they were, silhouettes against a darkening sky: one holding the other up by the hair—the excruciating sounds the other was making, struggling, and twisting, and then he gave a gentle little shudder—he—just—_stopped_.  When Hao let him go, the corpse fell down into the ground, face turned towards her.

_Remember this? _His blank eyes seemed to say, blank and empty like looking into a long-abandoned house from a rotting window.  _Remember?  You came too late.  And here I am, dead.  He sucked out my **soul**, Anna.  The bastard ate my soul, and you were only a minute late._   

And he sounded nothing like Yoh, the imaginary bitter anger like acid spat out in quiet accusations.  It didn't make any difference, though, because he looked like Yoh; didn't matter that he wasn't, that he was just a bitter shell dreamed up by her subconscious.  He _looked _like him, and though she had never been the superficial type, there it was like a slap to the face.

Funny, though, how it hurt more in dreams than it did in reality.

"Yoh," she said, taking a step his way, even though she knew it was foolish.  "Yoh."

The sneer transformed his face into something ugly, and she nearly shuddered, this was _wrong, _he was _dead_, he could not look at her with his dead accusing eyes that so unlike Yoh.  The edges of her vision blurred; he was still sneering, face twisted and earphones bright sickly orange against pasty skin and—_wait, how had the earphones gotten there?_—"Yoh," she said, this time desperate.  Only, she didn't sound desperate; she didn't sound like she even cared.  Her own voice was cold uncaring indifference, and when she touched her throat her fingers found bruise marks that hurt distant as a dead star.  She looked down on her own skin bruised purple and unnatural yellow-red.  Her chest started to ache, and she stared down at herself with something not quite panic—not quite there—reaching out sapling-slender tendrils to wind around her heart.  

_Bang._

_And—_

Then above her the sky exploded into red and pulsating black, and the clouds and the sun and the bare impression of the crescent moon melted away—and now she stood in a netherworld that left her brief impressions of canyons, of upside-down mountains, of stairs extending upwards forever, of desolation and a numb warmth that could have been pleasant if it did not leave the taste of vomit thick in her mouth.

And sitting there on the ground, quite casually, was Yoh.  

He turned around, lifted his head to look at her.  She watched as surprise made his eyebrows fly up, his mouth gape open, though too slightly to be noticed by someone who did not know how to look for it.

"Hello," she said.

"Anna!"  The surprise receded into a smile.  "Never thought I'd see you here."

_I never thought I'd see you again, _she thought, but kept it to herself.  She did that often.  "What is this place?"  She looked down at her hand, as if expecting it to be transparent, or sprouting claws, or something strange—this was a dream, after all, only a dream that felt more real than usual.  

"Sit down, yeah?"

She went to sit quietly by his side as he gestured for her to.  She didn't know this place, but maybe he did.  "Where am I?"

He smiled.  It was a sweet smile, a little awkward and a little sheepish.  "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Not a clue."  A pause.  "Promise not to get mad at me if I ask you something?"

She glanced at him, sideways, but nodded.

"You're in this place," he said.  He turned towards her, eyes earnest.  "So are you dead, too?"

That was when she woke up.

--

At first she thought that it was Yoh who was holding her, warm like an oversized shirt left out in the sun and then slid on nestle bare skin.  It smelled like him, the blankets, the pillow as it pressed into the side of her face, her hair.  There was something oddly comforting to being held like a child, though if she was a child then the spirits take her.

She was use to waking up, the first second when everything had turned to a tired blur, sometime during the night.  But she was use to the time immediately after too, sleep falling off her eyelids, shed easily through years of routine.  

Never the arms woven comfortably around her waist, though.  Yoh had known better than that.

"Morning," Hao said, even though it was dark outside.

She lay there and stared at his hand curled near her stomach, felt him warm as a fire at her back.  There were strands spilling over her shoulder—long and smooth, longer than her own, some part of her noted—and the fingers of his free hand toyed absently with hers, bending and curving over and tapping, just this side of intimate.  

"Morning," she said, and in the same tone of voice: "Get off of me."

"Say please."

Was he teasing?  She withdrew her hand, frowning.  Hao did not _tease—_it was just wrong.  "Are you asking me to beg?"

"If you call that begging, then yes."

"Bastard," she said.

"I know."  He laid a soft little kiss against the back of her neck that made her shiver, for some unknown reason.  "But this bastard is your husband."

"Don't try anything now."  

"Me?  Never!"

"Stop laughing."

"I would never—"

"Laugh at me?" she asked.  "You're laughing right now, Hao."

She felt him shrug, a movement of shoulders and chin bouncing just a little.  "Count yourself as one of the few, then."

"The few," she said, half a question.

"Who can really amuse me," he said in ways of explanation, and she felt his smile against her skin.  "That's why you can trust me."  His hands were still against her middle, as if trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, though he did not take them away.

"What are you trying to do, Hao?" she said, finally.

"Why am I being so polite, you mean?"  His voice held the warmth of amusement, or of anger.  "I'm always polite, to ladies especially."

"You should've thought of that when you forced me into marrying you," she said.  "That's a pretty twisted version of polite."

A soft laugh, gentle vibrations against her shoulder.  "You're the one to talk."

She frowned in the darkness.  "Don't avoid it."

"I'm not avoiding anything," he said.  "I have nothing to avoid."

She sat up, then, sliding out of his arms—not gracefully, not elegantly, but it would have to do for now—sat up and ran fingers through her hair and over her shoulder—then stilled, the dream a flicker just caught through the veil of sleep.  _Yoh, _she thought, and bent over her hand, holding it up even though she could barely make out anything, it was so dark.

He didn't try to pull her back.  "Alcohol makes for interesting dreams, doesn't it?"

"I supposed you would know."  She tucked her cold hand into the blankets, eyes flickering over the confines of the room.  

"You wouldn't run out on me," he said, and she found it disturbing that he could read her even with her face turned away.  "You're much too dignified for that."

"Stay out of my head, Hao."

"Was I even there in the first place?  I didn't think so."  He sounded amused.  "If I was in your head," and he pulled her back, gentle tugging turned to a sudden pressure, "You would know it."  It unbalanced her, landed her flat on her back.  She twisted away from him at the last possible second.

"I shouldn't have listened to what you said before," she said.

"No.  You shouldn't have."  A pause, his form a darkened blur against a background just a little lighter.  It might have been just her, but he seemed hunched over.  "But even Anna Kyouyama is afraid of death, isn't she?"

"Not death," she said.  

He turned his face towards her, just a little.  "No.  See that, Anna—I've never been inside your head.  If I had I would've known."

"If I refuse to marry you, I die," she intoned softly, as if reciting from scripture.  "If I agree, I live."  _If I live..._

"You would've died," he said, a statement of fact.

"Yes."

"You never cared.  You still don't."

"Yes."

"It was all for Yoh."

"Yes," she said, a third time.  

He gave a tired little laugh, strange as it lacked any joy.  "I won't bring him back for you."

"You won't.  But you said you're going to play this game, for me," she said.  "Didn't you?"

His voice quicksilvered from a weariness—_was it weariness?—_to sharp-edged anger.  "I tire of games."  A sigh, and then he lay back down next to her, with not even a single attempt to reach her again.  "Go to sleep, Anna."

_Go to sleep._

She did, but it was with the ghost of his arms still warm around her waist, and the ghost of Yoh's smile following her into her dreams.

---

_AN_: And it's reviewer response time!  (Taking a page out of xahra99's book, here.  Don't wanna take up too much space with this.)  Woo.  Beware Large-Blocky-Ugly-Paragraph-Thingie.

_Aniiston_:Write for Mankin!  Write for Mankin!  This fandom needs good writers like you! What if I were to do some shameless begging??_Anonymous_: Encouragement is a necessary part of my everyday diet.  ^_^ _Annu-kun_: Hao is one of those special, non-moronic villains, you know?  There are facets to him, and he's not really _evil_.  So yeah, angst coming up.  _Apple-chan_: Madeleine L'Engle is (one of) my idol(s).  And Bastard Hao will be less Bastard-ized, I promise.  _Ccs_lover_: I'm a YohxAnna shipper at heart, but since there's a _bit_ of a problem what with Yoh being dead... Anna/Hao is sort of unavoidable in these circumstances.  _Da*mouse_: Oh darn, I was late to it?  'Ppreciate your comments, as always.  Very constructive, and helpful, and I think I like cliffhangers too much for my own good.  _Draconicalitie_: RenxHoroHoro...!  *giggles along*  (God.  If there ever was a shameless fangirl...)  _flitter bug_: "bastard..well..he's a damn hot bastard..but still!"  My views exactly. ^_~  _Kaori_: He's not, he's not!  (I am never going to see the end of this, am I...)  _Kyrie Sanctus_: I will refrain from comment about the HoroHoroxTamao thing, as I'll probably get flamed to death if I were to say anything.  _LysergXJeanne_: It might take time, but that is my goal, yes.  I am also a BIG fan of YohxAnna! n_n _Mahojin_: Ah...*blushes*  Some people say I overdo the flowery/simile/metaphor thing, and I'm inclined to agree with them.  But thank you all the same. _Meiyue_: *is happy* _Midnight Raven_**: **I'm very impressed by your loyalty.  And no, I'm not being sarcastic.  _Mouse-kun_: *speechless back*  _passerby_: Your review was very enlightening.  Thank you.  _Rain2004_: Yeah.  Poor Anna.  I can't believe I'm putting her through this either, believe me.  Oh, what we will do in the name of an interesting story.  _Shirayuri_: You don't know how much that means to me, coming from you.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  (It about made my day ^^;;) _T. One_: No evil cliffie this chapter, right?  ^^  _UsagiAnna_:  The finish is a ways off—but don't worry, Aniiston (see: 1st, up there) has sworn to kick my ass if I don't.

(Wow.  That was _really_ long.)  Last note: I guess you guys can expect a chapter out every week.  If not, Aniiston gets to force me to rewatch and watch and rewatch the horrible first 20 episodes of YuYuHakusho until I go crazy and start clawing my eyes out.  So yeah, that's a pretty safe bet.  ^_^;;****


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